


Hogwarts Boys Are Easy

by starcall



Series: The Harry Potter Random Smut Machine [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cheating, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, F/M, Infidelity, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rare Pairings, Revenge Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcall/pseuds/starcall
Summary: Three Hogwarts boys who met Fleur Delacour at exactly the right time. Pairings randomly generated from the Harry Potter Ship Generator (https://harryspotter.tumblr.com/hpshipgenerator#).
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour/Dean Thomas, Terry Boot/Fleur Delacour
Series: The Harry Potter Random Smut Machine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912288
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Hogwarts Boys Are Easy

**Author's Note:**

> You may recognize this story as Chapter Two of "Rolling the Dice (Smutty One Shots from the Harry Potter Ship Generator)". I've decided to split those one-shots into different stories under one series, so that original work has been orphaned.

**Cedric**.

He rejects her. He _embarasses_ her. She bats her eyelashes, tosses her hair, uses all the charms of her foremothers and somehow, someway, he resists her. Her!

The other boy, Davies, is good-looking enough and constantly drooling over her, but secretly, Fleur is fuming.

At the Yule Ball, she gets a look at the little hag he's taking instead of her. Cho Chang is stubby and skinny and positively hideous compared to her. Still, Fleur gives her a glowing smile and tells her she looks beautiful in her dress. When she catches Cedric's eye, he avoids her gaze.

As the night grows later, the couples disappear into the garden one-by-one, giggling and catching their breath. Fleur can practically smell the lust in the air, radiating thick and heavy like a fog. Roger's all too eager, of course. But he uses too much tongue when he kisses, and when he puts his hands on her, it's like he's touching a porcelain statue, not a girl. Flushed and frustrated, she tells him she's going to powder her nose, leaves him waiting in the rose bushes. 

"The minutes will seem like hours..." Roger murmurs stupidly as she walks away.

Her instincts must draw her to him, because in the shadows beneath the heavily overhanging trees, she sees his broad-shouldered frame, and in the dim glow spilling from the fairy lights, she catches a glimpse of his dark hair, his strong jaw. Fleur licks her lips.

"Where is your date, Monsieur Diggory?" She whispers, smirking.

She sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "She, erm... went to the loo."

"Lucky me." Without another word, Fleur takes him by the hand and leads him off the path, behind a thick-trunked oak tree. She hears him mumble something as if in protest, but he doesn't pull away. He's a bit stiff at first, but soon he's kissing her back urgently, his thick arms a perfect fit wrapped around her slender waist.

They break apart and Fleur slips the straps of her dress, peels the bodice down. Cedric's eyes are wide as he stares at her flawless breasts, pale and full in the bluish moonlight. He'll never forget this. She'll make sure of that.

He touches her, gropes and fondles with his strong hands, and Fleur rewards him with gentle sighs and hitched breaths, and then the returning touch of her own fingers, sliding into his robes, searching him out.

"Did she do 'zis for you?" She whispers as her hand wraps around his cock. She loves the way he hardens in her grasp.

His brow darkens, even as he pants, his whole body stiffening. "Don't... talk about her," He mutters.

"All right... I won't talk at all." Fleur raises an eyebrow and sinks to her knees. She'll have grass stains on her gown in the morning, tears from the sticks and twigs.

Cedric chokes out a gasp when she takes him into her mouth, slides her full, red lips down, down, down. She keeps her hands folded primly in her lap, but gives him all of her lips, her tongue, her throat. He's wonderfully average in size, as hard as granite and he tastes of sweat and soap. Fleur's delicate, slender neck rocks this way and that, like a snake being charmed, as she lavishes every inch of his length with all the passion of the Veela. He gapes down at her, shuddering, as she worships his cock with her wet mouth.

"Cedric?" Cho's soft voice floats from up the path.

His eyes flick in her direction, panicked, but Fleur places his hand on the back of her head and swallows his cock to the balls. Cedric stuffs his fist into his mouth, his fingers tightening on her scalp as he pushes her down, her immaculate blonde up-do bobbing between his legs. His hips buck automatically, fucking his prick down her throat. Fleur stares up at him with her luminous blue eyes, delicately blushing cheeks hollowed around his shaft, choking softly as it disappears past her lips.

"...Cedric? Where'd you go?" Cho asks again, as only feet away, her date grunts and explodes in Fleur's mouth. For what feels like minutes, he throbs powerfully in her sucking embrace as she eagerly swallows load after load of his hot cum, teasing her own pink nipples. She licks her lips and gives one final gulp, sitting back. Then she smiles sweetly and inclines her head.

Flushed, chest heaving, Cedric gives her a look of awe, tucks himself back into his robes, and stumbles out from behind the tree. Fleur hears Cho's sigh of relief.

"There you are!"

"...Yeah, sorry--" Cedric mumbles. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Fleur pulls her dress back up, takes out a hankerchief and dabs at her smeared lipstick as the couple walks away. Now that she knows exactly what Cedric will be thinking of when Cho's lips are on his, she can focus on winning this _foutu_ competition.

**Dean.**

Dean is a sweet boy, tall and handsome, even with all the round-shouldered gangliness of an 18-year-old. It's only been three years since she was his age, but now that she's a married woman living with her husband, having all these teenagers around makes it feel like a lifetime ago.

Not that they haven't lived enough. Like Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna, Dean has a weight to his expression, a somber weariness to his manner that an 18-year-old boy should never have to bear. She can tell he's frustrated and listless when the others lock themselves away to plan during the day. But he still always has a helping hand for her, laying the table or washing the dishes, and an understanding smile when the goblin is driving her up the wall.

Shell Cottage is cramped and crowded and it feels as though Fleur spends every waking minute cooking or cleaning in an attempt to keep all its inhabitants alive and the cottage from descending into a pigsty. That is when she's not worrying about Death Eaters bursting in the door to murder them all. She wears an _apron_ now, and her long, silvery-blonde hair is constantly tied back in a haphazard bun, often decorated with bits of flour or soap suds.

At the end of the day, when she slides into bed, puts her hands on her husband, he's begun to sigh and turn away. "Sorry, love. Too many ears... I'm wiped out, anyway..." Lying there while Bill snores, Fleur feels unappreciated, even undesirable, for the first time in her life.

After supper one night, as Dean finishes drying the last of the dishes, Fleur wipes her pruned fingers and turns from the sink. "Dean."

"Yes?" He barely has to reach to put the mug away on top shelf.

"I was wondering if you could help me with something in ze garden. I think zere is a wasp's nest behind ze shed." She gives him a smile. "...And you are ze tallest." Bill is in the living room, reading the Daily Prophet with a creased brow.

"Sure, yeah." Dean shrugs. "No problem."

The sea crashes and roars below, the shadows growing long as they walk out to the small shed at the back of the garden. "A wasp's nest, you said?" Dean asks, looking up. "Might be better to get someone with a wand..."

"I am sure you can 'andle it," Fleur assures him, resting a hand on her collarbone as if to calm her thumping heart. She needs to be touched. Needs to feel something.

There really is a wasp's nest, grey and shriveled, nestled under the eaves of the shed, out of view from the cottage. Dean stands on his tiptoes, cautiously peering at it. "It's empty, I think." With a stick, he taps it and it comes down, splitting open on the ground to reveal the delicate, spiraled inside.

"Damn," He says, bending to examine it. "...Pretty thing. Maybe I'll sketch it."

When he straightens, running a hand through his curly black hair, she's standing within his reach, looking up at him. She's relieved that she doesn't even have to say anything to make his breath catch, his brown eyes widening as he finds himself face to face with her.

"...Mrs W--" He starts, but she hushes him.

She says nothing, just presses her hand to the front of his jeans and starts to rub. Dean's mouth drops open, staring down at her fingers, insistently kneading the rapidly growing bulge in his lap. Fleur enjoys his shock and wonder, but there's no time for it. She places one of his big hands on her breast, brings the other to her lips, capturing one of his long fingers in her mouth.

"Oh... _god_..." Dean bites it out, his face stricken with guilt, but he's an 18-year-old boy who nearly died only weeks ago, and even now, she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. He squeezes her round breasts through her dress while Fleur suckles on his fingers, presses his hips into her touch. In seconds, she's unbuttoning his jeans, drawing him out and Dean is swearing, cursing quietly to the wind.

His naked cock bobs up, dark and stiff and heavy in her hand. She pants as she wraps her fingers around his girth and begins to stroke insistently. Dean backs into the wall of the shed, gripping her arm, hard. "Shit... Fuck... _Fleur..._ feels so good..."

"Mhm..." She breathes. "My dress... help me with it..." Her with one hand, him with two, they fumble together with the buttons down the front of her floral sundress. He surprises her by flipping the cups of her bra down and she grabs him by his curls, drags his head down to her chest. He latches onto her large, creamy tits, sucking, licking, even grazing his teeth over her nipples. This he's done before. Fleur remembers that he dated Ginny at one point. Lucky girl.

She wants his face between her thighs, his big cock in her mouth, but she's already wet and they have to hurry, they have to hurry... She pulls his head away, turns, falling onto all fours on the patch of yellowing grass behind the shed.

"Bloody hell... I shouldn't... A-are you sure..." Dean mumbles, but she's already lifting her skirt, pulling her panties to the side, arching to present him with her round, juicy ass, her perfect pink pussy, already glistening. Her body has been well-hidden from him beneath the practical, frumpy clothing of a housewife, but now there's no denying her jaw-dropping curves, womanly and youthful, pale and soft.

Fleur looks back and sees the almost pained need on his face, shame and lust, his eyes devouring her, his cock achingly hard, thick veins standing out from the taut, dark flesh. She wants to give him relief, she wants to make him feel good. In answer to his stammered questions, she reaches for his shaft, draws him close to rub the bulging mushroom head against her soft folds, so he can see how it makes her shiver, feel how wet she is for him.

"Will you fuck me, Dean? I want you inside me... Please, I want your cock..." She begs with her words and her eyes until he's sliding inside her, gloriously stretching her walls. " _Oui_..." She whimpers. " _Oui, oui, oui,_ fuck me..."

"Oh my God... Fucking Christ..." Dean continues to sound surprised as he fucks her from behind on the dead grass, her dress hiked up, her fingers digging into the dirt. But he's good, he's _so_ good, desperate and raw and invigorating, pounding her cunt with a boy's careless enthusiasm and vigour, using his bruising grip on her hip and one of her swinging tits to bounce her back on his driving cock.

"Mm--mm--mm--mm!" The breath is forced out of Fleur's lungs every time Dean thrusts balls-deep inside her, his slim hips beating wildly against her full, shuddering ass. Over her shoulder, she watches her pussy swallow his hard shaft, her rosy folds, her pale, moonlight skin a stark contrast with his long, black cock shiny with her arousal.

" _Oui...._ Yes, darling, _oui,_ like zat, yess... Take me, darling... I'm all yours..." She coos encouragement between sighs, but as his thrusts jostle her harder, she reaches between her legs to stroke her own needy clit, and her words are lost in her stifled moans. "...It's so _big_... so big in my pussy..."

She presses her cheek into the grass, as her fingers race to hasten her orgasm, knowing Dean won't last long like this, gripping her wide hips and pumping her with reckless abandon, taking out weeks of frustration and fear on her squeezing, milking cunt. "Fuck yeah... Take it... Fleur bloody Delacour... Holy shit... So fucking good..." He hisses through gritted teeth. Fleur just moans, closing her eyes so she can feel every inch of his cock filling her up, every ridge and vein against her inner walls.

When she's about to come, her fingers scrabble at his hand, nails digging into his vice-like grip. He understands just in time to cover her mouth as she cries out wordlessly, stiffening against him, his long frame leaning over her, continuing to fuck her through her quivering orgasm.

"Fleur, I'm gonna--" He groans, hot in her ear, and she collapses forward onto the ground, rolls over to catch the first rope on her chest. She strokes more and more and more out as he shudders and pants, making a white, sticky mess of her heaving tits and slender neck.

He falls onto his rear next to her, wiping the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his t-shirt. "Fuck... Sorry..." She can see it washing over him, the reality of having fucked his married hostess, but she wants to keep him happy for a few more minutes, so she shakes her head, gently toying with her glazed breasts.

"...Never apologize after you 'ave... fucked a woman like zat." Catching her breath, she finds her wand and cleans herself up with a swish and a flick. "...I can leave you to deal with the ze terrible wasps' nest, then?"

Mouth still slightly open, Dean swallows and nods, zipping up his jeans. Standing, doing up her buttons, she bends and presses a kiss to his forehead. Then she returns to the cottage, where for once, all is calm and quiet.

**Terry.**

She's 24, the mother to a beautiful toddler and the wife to a husband that's in Egypt for half the year. 

Victoire had barely turned three before Bill had taken up curse-breaking again and Fleur spends her days alone with her daughter in the small cottage on a lonely cliffside, almost missing the crowded hubbub of those months during the war. She realizes very quickly that she doesn't really have any friends in this country. She does have family, and she certainly sees a fair amount of Molly, who's naturally far more excited to see Victoire than her, but the only young people she knows are hard at work at their impressive jobs--Auror, Quidditch player, naturalist.

It's Molly who leaves the flyer one day, perhaps as a not-too-subtle dig at Fleur's house-keeping skills. _POTIONS AND ELIXIRS FOR A HAPPY HOME! SOLUTIONS THAT BEST ANY MESS ON ROBES, FLOORS, OR DISHES! CONCOCTIONS FOR A GLORIOUS GARDEN! SPEND LESS TIME ON HOUSEWORK AND MORE TIME PAMPERING YOURSELF WITH HAIR-CARE TONICS, FRESHENING SKIN SALVES AND MUCH MUCH MORE! SEND YOUR OWL TODAY TO AUNT PEARLINA'S POTIONS FOR THE HOME!_

It's out of pure boredom Fleur sends the owl. Between taking care of Victoire and the house, it might be worth it to spend some of her husband's money and see if any of "Aunt Pearlina's" potions actually work. The next day she's startled by a cheery rapping at the door in the afternoon. It's a Friday, Victoire is at the Burrow for the day. Since it's her "day off" of sorts, Fleur's been lazing around the house in a pair of spandex shorts and a tank-top, so she grabs a long cardigan to answer the door.

The wizard on the doorstep of Shell Cottage is young, with light brown skin, somewhat hastily combed dark hair, and a slightly nervous, boyish smile. He's shorter than her, broad-shouldered and looks somewhat uncomfortable in his pressed purple robes. He blinks at her. "Cripes, you _are_ Fleur Delacour..."

She frowns. "...Yes?"

"Fleur _Weasley_ now, sorry, just threw me off..." He hefts the heavy-looking briefcase in his hand. "...Cocking this one up, aren't I? Hiya, I'm from Aunt Pearlina's Potions, I'm here to show you our selection of household potions, elixirs and unctions. Name's Boot...T--"

"--Terry!" She says with a snap of her fingers, and he looks shocked. "I do recognize you... you're one of 'arry's friends from 'ogwarts." Now she remembers. He was in the battle. He doesn't look much older than he did then.

Terry scratches his head, obviously trying to hide the fact that he's pleased. "That's, uh... that's right. Ravenclaw. Saw you in the Triwizard Tournament and everything. And at the Yule Ball, of course."

She smiles. There's something oddly charming about the way he seems to say exactly what pops into his head at that very moment. "Please. Any friend of 'Arry's is welcome 'ere. I'll put the kettle on and you can show me all of your potions."

"Brill..." He grins as he steps inside. "Cute place!"

She directs him to the sofa while they have a cup of tea and some of Molly's leftover cake. They end up talking--about Hogwarts and Harry, France and Britain. He's unfailingly blunt in his observations and his stories are crass and funny, forcing her to cover her giggles with a hand. He's not a very good saleswizard-- it's nearly thirty minutes before he even opens his briefcase. She points this out, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Way to fill a bloke with confidence..." He mutters, flipping the lid of the case back. An entire shop-window display of small bottles unfolds from it like a pop-up book. "To be honest, I'm much better at the potion-making part."

"You _make_ the potions?" Fleur says without hiding her surprise.

"Yeah. If I'm totally honest, "Aunt Pearlina" is a Scottish wizard called Bernard." He sorts rather haphazardly through the bottles. "He hired me straight out of Hogwarts to make the potions from some old recipes he collected, modify them where I could. Me and another Ravenclaw, Padma Patil, do you know her? Here, let me show you the ones that actually work."

He shows her a cleaning solution that turns clothing stains invisible, one that shrinks large messes down so they can be wiped away with a single paper towel, and one that make her house-plants bloom tiny flowers which emit their own perfume. They do also fill the room with large blue bubbles, which Terry has to pop with his wand while Fleur grows breathless with laughter. At some point they switch from tea to wine and everything gets even funnier.

"What about ze..." Her accent, which has faded a bit in the past few years, sometimes makes a return when she's tipsy. "...the personal products?"

"Oh, the hair tonic and skincare line? It's rubbish. Not that you'd need it anyway." He hurriedly buries his face in his wine glass after that, apparently realizing what he said.

"What was that?" She teases, tongue between her teeth.

"Oh, come off it," He actually rolls his eyes. "You know you're gorgeous. Isn't that one of your magic powers? You're just supernaturally lush?"

She raises her eyebrow at the slang word, but she gets the idea. "...I suppose. But let me tell you... once you've been married for a few years, even Veela can get taken for granted. The spark fades." She sips her wine, pouting slightly.

Terry gives her a sympathetic look. "Ah...That's a shame." 

"Soooo? Come on!" She leans forward to slap him on the arm, drawing one of her legs up onto the couch. "Do you 'ave anything in one of those little bottles that can 'elp me?"

He digs through them a bit idly. "Well... since you asked... we do carry a few... marital aids."

Fleur gasps, mock scandalized. "Monsieur Boot!"

"...I don't typically demonstrate them," He says quickly, already turning a bit red. It's frankly adorable. "...Not even sure if I have any in here. Oh, wait--" He plucks a small bottle with deep purple glass from the back of the display.

"...A love potion?" She takes it from his outstretched hand.

"No, of course, not! We'd be shut down. It's just an aphrodisiac. Increases... sensation. Doesn't affect your judgement at all. Just brings the spark back, hopefully." He swallows. "I'll leave that sample bottle with you, shall I?"

"This really works?" She asks skeptically, examines the tiny bottle, the clear liquid swimming inside. "I don't believe it." She uncorks it and brings it to her lips.

"Hang on--" Terry starts, but Fleur throws it back, watching him.

"What? I 'ave to know if it works, don't I?" She purses her lips innocently, enjoying Terry's wide eyes. She sticks her tongue out. "Yuck. Tastes 'orrible."

But slowly, a warmth begins to spread through her, as if she had drunk a full mug of Butterbeer in a single draught. She feels herself flush--cheeks, neck and chest. The soft cotton tanktop has become rough against her skin, rubbing uncomfortably against her suddenly very sensitive breasts. The heat is overwhelming, like a hundred invisible fingers running down her stomach, tingling along her inner thighs...

"E-excuse me, I 'ave to powder my nose." With as much dignity as she can muster, she stands, wrapping her cardigan around herself, and hurries to the bathroom next to the kitchen, leaving Terry alone in the living room. 

Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, it looks as though she'd been interrupted during a very heated snogging session. She's bright pink, even starting to perspire a bit in a dewy glow, and her nipples are poking starkly through her tanktop. Why in Merlin's name had she drunk that bloody potion?

_Terry._ That was why. She'd been flirting with that 21-year-old saleswizard. But it's not her fault--she's so _lonely_ and he's so funny and blunt and nervous around her. _And at the Yule Ball, of course,_ he had said. She must have been a memorable sight for a 14-year-old boy. What was it like for him to knock on the door and see the woman from his boyhood fantasies?

Merlin, she's wet. She can't go back out there like this.

Several minutes later, there's a knock at the bathroom door. "Erm... Mrs. Weasley? Everything all right? You just... you're not meant to drink the whole bottle." He pauses for a moment. "Maybe I'd better go."

"Just... fucking... get in here..." She bites out, lips pressed tightly together. The door opens slowly, revealing Fleur Delacour on the bathroom floor, long legs spread, a hand between her thighs, furiously fingering her visibly soaked pussy. She looks up at Terry with her large eyes and whines out in frustration, because the look on his face only turns her on more. There's shock there and a bit of guilt, like on Dean's face all those years ago, but only a bit. Mostly there's lust, hungry and fierce, so unfitting on his pleasant, boyish face.

The sound of her wet cunt squelching around her fingers is defeaning in the tiny bathroom. Her toes curl and flex against the tiles, one large, pale tit spilling out of her tanktop so she can pinch her own swollen nipple.

"Need some assistance, Mrs. Weasley?" Terry asks, voice hoarse.

Fleur bites her lip and nods desperately. Slowly, Terry lowers himself to his knees and leans forward as if in supplication, his hands firmly parting her thighs as he presses his mouth to her cunt.

"Oh my god, _yes_!" She cries, his tongue a heavenly relief on her tingling, over-heating pussy. He positively devours her, worshipping her cunt like a possessed man, fingers, tongue and lips all at once, sloppy and obscene and overwhelming.

Fleur throws her head back, banging it against the bathtub, but she barely feels anything over the burning pleasure radiating from her sex. Moaning, begging in French, English and everything in between, she writhes and squirms on the floor, grabbing handfuls of his hair, trying to squeeze his face between her thighs. But he won't let her, keeping her legs spread as his thick fingers thrust inside her and drive against her g-spot, her tight pussy aching to clutch around them.

Hips bucking, she squeezes her eyes shut, cries rising in pitch, and comes on Terry's tongue, wordless and wanton. But he doesn't stop, keeping his lips firmly clamped over her clit, and Fleur feels another wave of ecstasy approaching like a riptide. "Again!" She squeaks in shock, almost panicked. "I'm going to come again!" And she does, seizing and practically shivering from the punishing double orgasm. Thank god for this fucking potion.

Even as she collapses back against the bathtub, breath heaving, Terry isn't finished. Almost leaping to his feet, she sees him reaching inside his robes, where there's a sizeable tent.

"...want it, Fleur?" He mutters and Fleur nods, drunk with pleasure. She barely gets her mouth open in time for him to shove his hard cock past her lips. His hand wraps around her loose ponytail and Fleur gags as his cockhead bumps the back of her throat, her mouth full of his shaft. She's shocked at the roughness, but when he pauses for a moment, Fleur only opens her lips wider and looks up at him temptingly.

So Terry fucks her face, forcing her to deepthroat him, pushing her head down so she chokes and smacks on his cock. Her eyes are wide and watering, because she's never been treated like this, like a whore, like a toy. His balls bump her chin, her nose brushes his wiry hair, as she somehow swallows all of his surprisingly large cock, and he groans and grunts to her while he slams into her throat.

"Fuck, that's good... Take it all down, Mrs. Weasley... Merlin, you're so bloody gorgeous... suck my fucking cock... That's it, love... Like that, do you?"

At this she moans over her own wet sounds, nodding, cupping her tits. She does like it, his meaty, masculine cock making her jaw ache, sliding her tongue over the hard, musky flesh as she takes it as deep as she can.

"I'm close...Where d'you want it?" He moans, pulling out to give her a breath to speak.

"Anywhere... Just give me your cum, Terry..." She pants, but perhaps saying his name was a mistake, because he moans and his thick cock pulses directly in her face and she has to squeeze her eyes shut as she feels his hot load splatter onto her cheek. "Oh, _mon dieu!"_ She gasps, sticking her tongue out to catch as much as she can, but when he's finished, she's thoroughly painted. "Monsieur Boot!" She opens her eyes, feeling the stickness on her cheeks, chin and lips.

"You did say anywhere," Terry says, catching his breath. "I can clean you up." Straightening, she waves this aside, and wipes some away with her finger, sucking it clean. "Bloody hell... Never thought I'd see that... Fleur Delacour..."

"...Swallowing your cum? Lucky boy. I guess that potion of yours really works... I couldn't resist," She smirks.

"Actually..." Terry looks sheepish for a moment. "It's just a Warming Draught. Not much more than a hot cup of tea in a small bottle."

Her mouth drops open. "My god... you fraud! So it was just..." She stammers.

He shrugs, trying and failing to hide his pleasure. "...A spark, I guess."

"Oh, you'll pay for that," Fleur warns, glowering at him as she pulls her tanktop over her head.

And he does. She lays back on the kitchen table and makes him eat her pussy until she comes twice more. Only then does she let Terry fuck her on it, her long, slender legs thrown over his shoulders as he stretches her pussy with his fat cock, shaking the table, her big, perky tits rocking wildly.

He's hardly her physical type, in fact she's never slept with a man who's shorter than her, but she hasn't had such _fun_ sex in what feels like years. The young saleswizard says the filthiest things while he fucks her, how we used to fantasize about her, how all the Hogwarts boys did, as he roughly gropes her tits, her ass, everywhere he can reach, like he can hardly believe she's real.

They end up on the kitchen floor, where she lets her ponytail down, shaking out the silvery-blonde curtain of hair so that it tumbles to her waist, draping around her naked body as she lowers herself down onto him. She loves how Terry stares up in open-mouthed awe at her and runs his hands reverently over her ungodly curves, but even more, she loves how he smacks her ass and shamelessly tongues her nipples once she starts bouncing on his cock.

They never even make it to the bedroom. She rides him until he explodes in her enveloping pussy there on the floor, then lovingly sucks his cock back to life on all fours. He doesn't need a potion for that--he's rock hard and bending her over the sofa only a few minutes later. He gathers her silken tresses in his fist, uses them to tug her back onto his pounding cock, asks if she's a slut and a whore until she's screaming that she is, begging for his cum inside her again. When she feels him start to throb, a quick, intense orgasm shakes her.

Both naked and covered in sweat in the living room, Terry says he should be going soon and she agrees--she's supposed to pick up Victoire any time now.

"Unless... you want to shower before you go?" Fleur says breathlessly. "Wouldn't want to soil your lovely work robes."

" _Oui, oui,_ give me your big cock, fuck my slutty pussy..." Hands flat against the shower walls, Fleur bounces her plump ass back onto him as Terry slams into her beneath the hot, pounding water. One hand plays with her soapy tits while his thumb works into her asshole. It feels filthy and perverted and Fleur wonders what his cock would feel like squeezing into her tight rear. Maybe next time.

"God, you're so bloody hot, Fleur, you feel fucking amazing--"

"--Yesss, 'arder, _m_ _on dieu,_ I love your fucking cock--"

"Yeah, you do... so fucking wet... Gonna come for me again, eh?"

"Yes, _yes!_ Don't stop, don't stop, oh Terry, _Terry_!"

She's not sure if she's cried out anyone else's name during sex apart from Bill's. Maybe that's when this becomes an affair.

Or maybe it's when she finds herself flipping through Aunt Pearlina's flyer again the following week. A bored housewife and a charming young saleswizard--it's quite the cliche. But she sends the owl anyway.


End file.
